Stomach flu

He sat, head bent over his cello, and felt his stomach heave. Just ignore it, he thought. Just sit so still your stomach doesn't realize it's not feeling well. Just . . . Just nothing. He had to get to a bathroom. NOW! He paused for a millisecond, hoping his stomach would suddenly cooperate and settle down. Then he knew it wouldn't and he acted. He methodically leaned over and place his cello carefully on its side, gently setting his bow on its ribs. Once he was sure his cello was safe, he moved quickly. Rising from his chair at the front of the church, he wound his way past music stands and other chairs, recently abandoned by children who had gathered on the other side of the stage to listen to the children's story. He hoped the story continued for a few minutes. He needed to be back on stage by the time the children returned to their seats. He was part of the special music that would happen next.

He rushed through the door leading to the hallway and then through another that took him into a room with a washroom. He shoved the door shut and leaned in front of the toilet just in time. When he was done, he slumped in front of the toilet. The murmur of the storytelling voice had ended sometime in the middle of his expulsion. Now two girls were singing with a guitar. So they had changed around the order of the service? Well, that was better than the whole church body just sitting in their pews, waiting for him to reappear. He felt better now that the offending material in his stomach was gone. He walked to the sink and rinsed his mouth out with cold water before taking a small drink. Then he looked in the mirror. He didn't look like he'd just thrown up. Reaching up, he pulled a few stray curls back into place. He casually walked back to the stage and sat on the piano bench until the girls finished their song. Then he made his way back to his seat, picked his cello back up and came in on the downbeat. He made it through the song and then headed back to the bathroom for the rest of the church service. What bad timing for a flu, he thought as he tried to listen to the speaker through the bathroom door.

Kleenex

Today I give the inventor of Kleenex, or facial tissue (to be completely unbiased towards certain brands as we learn to be in journalism classes and AP style), a hand. Bryn kindly passed on her cold to me last night and I've been fighting a losing battle with a scratchy voice, coughing attacks, and a stuffy nose since then. Those of you in Adv. Creative Writing can attest to this. For those of you not in that class, here's a short-form of the episode I had in class today. We had a workshop day and decided that, since we were tired of reading our own pieces out loud to the entire class (of four students and the teacher), we'd each read the story of the person to our right. This meant that I had the immense privilege of reading Janelle's masterpiece. I was going along reading the story passably well (although not as well as the amazing story deserved) when I got to somewhere around the second last paragraph of the second last page. All of a sudden I took a breath that hit a certain section of the upper part of my trachea. So basically I got this enormous tickle in my throat/cough attack and had to dash, with water bottle firmly clutched in hand, to the washroom where, within a minute or two, I had the tickle/cough under control once again. I'm sure I made quite the scene, but in that kind of a situation there's only one thing to do; immediately run from the room and take cover in the nearest washroom to mop away the cough-tears and blow the suddenly-runny nose. Ahh, the joys of having a cold. Yes, I'm very thankful to the Japanese for inventing, washi, the first facial tissues, all those centuries ago.